


Home.

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-03-07 15:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: In a world that’s black and white until you meet your soulmate, Theon and Sansa have both seen colors for as long as they can remember. But neither knows who their soulmate is.Now Theon needs a fake soulmate and Sansa needs a real roommate, so together they agree to put aside their differences - only to discover they’re not very different at all.





	1. i. silver

**Author's Note:**

> Contains background ships of Arya/Gendry, Robb/Talisa, Dany/Yara, Jojen/Bran, Jon/Ygritte.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Sansa have very different perspectives on their ability to see color.

 

 

  

 

Allegedly, Sansa Stark's first word - real word, not Ma or Pa or Obb - is “silva.”

Silver.

Robb jokes that it makes sense - Sansa is always dreaming of a romantic prince to sweep her off her feet with armor and swords. But whereas Robb sees swords as shades of gray, the hilt darker than the blade, a white streak painted through, reflecting light and bravery and honor - Sansa knows better.

She knows swords are silver.

Silver - not gray, but silver with a metallic sheen and shiny reflections. It’s subtle but it is different.

Like Sansa.

Because she can see in color from the moment she first opens her eyes. Whereas Robb and later Arya and Bran and eventually little baby Rickon cannot tell the difference between their father’s dark locks highlighted in white or their mom’s lighter hair highlighted in white too…

Sansa knows better. She gravitates to her mom’s bright red hair, so similar to her own; she plays with the bright yellow toys and not the boring brown ones. Not because they’re any more interesting - they just look more fun. They’re brighter.

And the highlights in her parents hair - they are not white or gray, not really. They sparkle in the sun on their vacations or picnics. They’re silver, like the blades of the swords of the knights and princes in the stories.

And her prince?

Well, that remains a mystery.

Sansa believes her parents are disappointed at not knowing who or where the color began for her - indeed, _her_ parents are soulmates. Their story - of their first meeting, when Catelyn Tully looked past the ghost of Brandon Stark, to _see_ Ned Stark, to realize the world was painted in strokes of color - is one of Sansa’s favorite bedtime stories. But Sansa’s story has no beginning, just a confusing and colorful middle.

So Sansa keeps dreaming, keeps wishing. She knows one day her prince will come and the colors - already so bright and pretty and shining - will become just a bit brighter. Because they would know exactly who she is, who she’s meant to be - his other half. His partner. His soulmate.

But until then, until that day, Sansa keeps believing.

 

 

Theon grew up above a bar.

His dad is usually drunk and his mother is usually crying, so most of his time not spent at school or with his best friend Robb is with his sister.

His sister who prefers to play video games blowing people up than talking to him about his feelings.

Theon has a lot of feelings.

He learned long ago to keep those feelings buried deep down; he smiles and he laughs and he shouts and he punches things… but usually in the privacy of his own room, or with Robb. Or Yara.

Who usually ignores him in those moments. So it’s really like he’s by himself anyway.

This day is one of those rare occasions where silently sulking on the sofa next to his sister isn’t going to go unnoticed.

“What’s wrong with you?” his sister asks, eyes only briefly leaving the screen as her character chopped off the head of a monster. “You look like someone kicked your puppy.” Her head tilts as her character completes some complicated maneuver to escape burning in fire. “If we _had_ a puppy.”

“Robb asked if we could have a sleepover this weekend.”

Yara pauses her game. “And what did you tell him?” Her calm voice, both understanding yet firm, highlights her extra four years of experience.

“That I couldn’t unless it was at his house.”

“And what did he say?”

Theon looks down, remembering that moment: fear and embarrassment warring in his gut before turning into something else, something less familiar. “I’d always be welcome at his.”

“I like this Robb.” Yara turns back to the screen. “He’s good for you.”

“That’s why I told him - ” Theon pauses, the words stuck in his mouth, sticky and thick… but when they leave his lips, they taste like honey. “I told him how I can see colors.”

This time, Yara drops her controller. “ _You can see colors._ ” It’s a statement, not a question, one laced in shock and hurt. Maybe he _should_ have told her… “Since when?”

Holding his wrist, an echo of pain against his thumb, Theon avoids her eyes. “A long time ago. I was - young, I don’t remember much. Just…” He shrugs. “A baby at the hospital. Don’t know who it was. It’s not important.”

Yara stares at him, eyes locked onto his; it’s unnerving, holding Yara’s complete - and serious - attention. But she nods, although almost skeptically. “Probably.” A grin spreads across her face. “Baby bro can see colors, huh?” Chuckling, she swings her legs back onto the coffee table and restarts her game. “Lucky you.”

“I’m not a baby, you know.”

Yara raises her eyebrow. “Yes, you’re so old with your whole _twelve years_.” Her grin widens. “You’re always going to be my baby bro, little Theon. Get used to it.”

Crossing his arms, and likely pouting, Theon curls into the sofa. Yara laughs at him.

And even if Theon is annoyed and irritated, he’s _feeling_ and his chest feels lighter for it.

 

 

Sansa looks up to Robb.

He’s older and bigger and smarter, and he pretends to rescue her from dragons and evil monsters when no one else will. Even though her cousin Jon is just as capable - he’s also older and bigger and maybe a bit smarter - his death scenes are just not _quite_ as dramatic as they need to be.

But as time passes, as Robb becomes even _older_ \- and as five-year-old Bran begins to follow him around too, wanting to join the adventures of his high school bound older brother - their time spent together shrinks. Instead, Sansa is left to hope Arya doesn't ruin her dolls or baby Rickon doesn’t spit onto her dresses.

And eventually, Sansa realizes Robb doesn’t have less time because he’s older. It’s because she’s been replaced.

It happens slowly - first, casual mentions of a new friend at school. Then, regular hangouts at the library or at the pool. Later, the stranger begins appearing in their home.

Sansa doesn’t mind at first - she doesn’t even bother to learn his name, honestly - because he always leaves before dinner and never comes over on weekends. Robb is still hers, mostly.

Until their first sleepover.

That’s when it becomes clear.

_Theon_ \- what kind of name is that, anyway? - is both quiet and loud at the same time. His presence means that Robb is freer, lighter. Robb gets into trouble when Theon’s around; he’s a bit more rude, a bit more gross, a bit more… _boy_. And it’s all Theon’s fault.

Now, when Sansa asks Robb to play prince and knights, he glances sideways at Theon. The boys would share a _look_ \- one that she hates, that means they think she’s being silly, playing pretend. Robb doesn’t have that look when it’s just them. And once - when Sansa asks for the final time, waving a play-sword in the air with the last sliver of hope that _maybe_ they want to join her -

“Do you really believe in all of this shit?” Theon winces when Robb glares at him. “Sorry - _stuff_.” Her brother’s best friend sighs, leaning down slightly to put them more at eye-level. Sansa knows he isn’t _that_ much older - four years, to be exact, barely a year older than Robb - but she is small and he is bigger and Sansa doesn’t like it. He takes the play-sword from her, tossing it in his hands. “You know - love and all that sappy stuff? Not real.”

Sansa scoffs, grabbing back the sword. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Soulmates are real! I _know_ they are.”

Theon stiffens, eyes a little harder, and straightens. “Soulmates don’t exist.” He shrugs and avoids her eyes but the bullet has been fired. “That silver sword of yours isn’t going to save you from reality.”

Her stomach hurt. Robb opens his mouth to interrupt them, but Sansa shakes her head. “You’re _wrong_ . If you could see color, you would _know_ \- ”

The laugh that leaves Theon is harsh, stinging. It’s nothing like the laughs she hears when he’s with Robb. “I _can_ see color, princess.” His arms cross over his chest, his face breaking out into a smirk that she decides she _hates_. “So take your pink dresses and blue castles and leave us alone until you grow up.”

“ _Theon_ \- ” Robb’s voice is sharp, hard, angry - and maybe if Sansa had stayed, she would revel in the satisfaction that in that moment, Robb picks her over _him_.

But she doesn’t stay; she runs out, trying to stop herself from crying but tears finding their way down her cheeks anyway. She escapes to her room and slams the door shut.

Sansa is ten at the time. She stuffs the play-sword deep into her closet and never sees it again until she’s eighteen.

 

 

The night before the first day of high school, Balon Greyjoy tries to punch him.

_Tries_.

For the first time, Theon dodges it. And then, he punches him back. It lands, hard and painful, the crack of a bone beneath his knuckles suddenly satisfying.

The struggle doesn’t last long; they have an audience and Balon is embarrassed, so it’s a miracle Theon can even stand after. Briefly, he wishes Yara was still there; but then he remembers his mom’s cries from where she hides in her room. No, it’s better this way.

Theon knows better than to step foot in the bar anyway.

At school the night morning, when Robb asks why he’s limping, Theon just shrugs. “Tripped over a pile of clothes this morning trying to get ready.” The clothes weren’t his, and they were covered in wasted alcohol, and who knows what else. But it’s not a complete lie.

Robb stares for a while but says nothing.

Theon remains grateful.

That night, Theon installs and hides a silver ladder outside his window.

 

 

Theon never apologizes.

Robb had apologized on his behalf on the same day years ago, talking about how his best friend had been in a bad mood, stuff she didn’t need to worry about, but he really didn’t mean any of it. And in the next week, everytime Theon sees her, he avoids her eyes, maybe giving a nod or a smile that seems strained. But he never speaks to her, at least not about anything that matters.

So Sansa avoids him.

As Theon spends more and more time at the Starks, Sansa has to see him more often. But asking him “pass the carrots” is easy; “why do you flinch when Dad approaches you” isn’t. So instead of caring about Theon and wondering why he shows up with a black eye or bruised legs, Sansa decides to not care. It’s easier.

Accepting that Robb has a new best friend is harder, but she does that too. Sadly, she shares little interests in common with Arya or Bran, and Rickon is just too young, so Sansa makes other friends - Jeyne and Beth are nice enough. She doesn’t play pretend anymore, but they talk about boy bands and fashion and books. It’s fun.

So Sansa grows up.

And she continues to leave Theon alone.

Until one day, once Sansa has started the same high school as her brother and Theon, she arrives home to find Theon sitting on the couch.

“Sansa,” he says, dropping his phone in his lap at the sight of her. It’s the first time he’s addressed her directly, purposefully, in… a long time.

“What do you want?” she asks, before wincing. She’d thought she has thicker skin than that, that she’d gotten better at appearing indifferent around Theon. “I mean - I thought you had swim practice after school. Robb’s still there.”

“No practice today,” says Theon, in that subdued state she only glimpses every now and then. He studies his hands. “I just - ” Sighing, he finally looks her in the eye. “I never said I was sorry.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow, successfully preventing any other reaction. “Sorry for what?”

“You know what.” When Sansa doesn’t respond, Theon sighs again, this time running his hand through his hair. The curls fall back just as messy as before. “That day, with the sword. I - you believe in love and soulmates and things, and I just - I don’t understand it.”

Sansa crosses her arms over her chest, her gym bag swinging. “That doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole about it.”

Theon winces. “You’re right.” His gaze is strong against hers. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure I want to forgive you.” When Theon opens his mouth, Sansa shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I really am sorry. About being a dick.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “You’ve said that already.”

Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck. “Well. I mean it.” A beat before Theon stands. “Right. Okay. Let me - ”

“You know,” Sansa interrupts, looking up, but only just slightly - she’s almost as tall as him, after all. Maybe one day she might be taller. “I just wanted you to know. _I_ know soulmates exist. I’ll believe in it enough for the both of us.”

His face clouds over. “You do that.”

“Just because you want to be a stubborn and pessimistic asshole - ”

Theon shakes his head and throws his hands into the air before grabbing his bag. “Well, I tried. Good luck finding your soulmate, Princess.”

Theon leaves muttering under his breath and Sansa just rolls her eyes.

 

 

Several months later, when Theon shows up at their house late on a summer evening, Sansa almost yells at him for scaring her before calling for Robb. But at the sight of him - wrinkled clothes, hair even more of a mess than usual, eyes bloodshot - she pauses.

There’s only one more month before Theon and Robb leave for university. Separately, surprisingly. Sansa hasn’t quite started to accept it; she’s still in denial that her big brother and his shadow won’t be around anymore. Sure, Theon annoys her most of the time, but it’ll be… _different_.

A little less like home.

But here Theon is: standing on their doorstep. Crying.

“Theon?”

Silently, because words seem to be too difficult, he reaches for her. Without thinking, Sansa embraces him, tightly and completely; he clings to her before finally breaking. Thick sobs, silent but heavy, wrack his body as he shakes in her arms.

Sinking to the steps of the porch, Sansa holds Theon and he cries.

“My mom,” he finally says when he lifts his head, wiping at his cheeks. The dried tears on his face glitter like melted silver. “She - pills - ” His voice cracks.

Her heart cracks too. “Oh, _Theon_ \- ” She doesn’t think anything can say would help. So she holds his hand, holds his body against hers, holds his heart while it breaks, trying to hold any piece of it together. “I’m here.”

Eventually, Theon stops crying, but he stays. They sit on the porch, in silence, arms tangled and faces a mess. At some point, his tears become her own, silver chains binding them together. But now the quiet reigns and Theon’s heartbeat feel loud against her shoulder.

“I better go.”

A part of her doesn’t want him to leave, not yet. But the bigger part knows this is just a blip in the life of Theon Greyjoy, and Sansa Stark just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.

Sansa stands and offers him a hand. Theon takes it and stands too.

After pausing for a moment to stare at her, study her, memorize her, her hand still in his… without saying anything, he drops her hand and leaves.

Sansa watches him until he disappears.

 

 

 

When Sansa asks Robb the next day about how Theon is doing: “he left.”

“What?”

Robb frowns, a cloud of sadness coating him. “He called this morning. Said he needed to get away and decided to just head to Pyke a month earlier. Get settled in.” Without looking at her, he kicks at nothing. “Didn’t even tell me about his mom until after he hung up.”

Sansa feels something crack in her chest. Guilt crawls into her gut. “He - he probably knew it’d be too hard to say goodbye,” she says, deciding to keep Theon’s late night visit to herself. “You’ll see him again soon.”

Robb says nothing.

 

 

Theon drafts a text:

_Thank you for being there._

_I might miss you._

He deletes it.


	2. ii. black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later: Sansa prepares to run just as Theon stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Ramsay is mentioned (abuse and rape implied) and Joffrey shows up.

 

_Three years later…_

 

Hours before her graduation party, Bran asks if her phone case has always been black with blue dots.

Sansa’s head snaps up from looking at her texts - her boyfriend Joffrey is whining about the party, complaining about the time; Sansa’s used to this, knows he’ll show up anyway - and stares at her little brother. “You can see blue?”

Bran hides a smile, but she suspects he’s only trying to appear cool. In reality, he’s bursting. “Yeah. And red. And yellow. And green and pink and purple and orange and - ”

“Bran!” She grins, happily, because while she no longer believes in the romance of soulmates, she believes in her brother’s happiness. “We should tell Mom and Dad.”

“I already did! And Arya and Robb and Rickon and Jon - ” he bounces in his seat, not at all acting like his fourteen years. Sansa’s smile falls slightly - she’s the _last_ to know - but Bran keeps beaming. “His name is Jojen and he can see color now too! We’re in the same history class - and we share a homeroom too. He has a sister a year older than us and she’s in my math class and I think she can see color too - ”

Bran keeps speaking and Sansa stops listening, because, frankly, she’s still stuck on the fact that she’s the last to know.

Sansa remembers when she was the _first_.

When Arya used to come to her with facts about sports - and Sansa would ignore her, in favor of Jeyne. Or when Bran used to tell her stories about adventures with bugs and rocks… and Sansa patted his head with a patronizing smile. Or when Rickon asked her to play with him, and Sansa sat him down on the floor and did her homework instead.

Or, when Robb calls and their conversations go like his:

“How is everything?”

“Good. You know, high school. Passing classes, dating Joffrey, Jeyne got a new haircut. You?”

“The same, mostly.”

“Cool. Well, have a good night.”

“Oh. You too.”

Rinse, lather, repeat.

When had it all become so routine? So monotonous?

Pointless?

Bran, eventually, rushes off to get ready for the party this evening. He’ll leave with their parents after dinner, with Arya and Rickon, before the _real_ party starts. Sansa knows Jon and Robb have planned to show her what a college party is like, in the safety of their supervision. A part of her is annoyed. Another part, relieved.

Sansa is ready to be done with high school.

In three days, Sansa will walk across the stage in front of her family and friends, in front of the entire school and community. She’ll walk away with a piece of paper that says she spent eighteen years learning useless facts and pointless lessons - all in preparation for the _real_ schooling of life.

She hasn’t told her boyfriend Joffrey how restless she feels. She suspects he knows; when they slept together, after prom in a rented hotel room, messy and awkward and not that great, Sansa rested in his arms. Joffrey, with his bright yellow hair, told her he loved her. Sansa said she loved him too.

And then Joffrey told her to accept the offer at King’s Landing. So she did.

That was a month ago. They haven’t had sex since then - finding time and space is difficult and Joffrey did not push the issue - and they haven’t repeated their _I love yous_ . But Sansa knows he still does. She’s not concerned; once they leave, when they have independence and freedom and _time_ , everything will fall into place.

Life is fine now, with her family and her degree and her boyfriend, but Sansa itches for _more_.

High school feels pointless. Not when there’s so much _more_ to life: jobs and money and love and relationships. Joffrey is a taste of that; but King’s Landing will be gateway to _more_.

Sansa used to believe that _more_ were the fairytales and the songs. Now she understands it’s not as simple as meeting your soulmate in your childhood home and never having to be uncomfortable, never having to experience change.

No, Sansa understands that _more_ is movement. Change. Being uncomfortable.

It’s only in the moments where she stares in the mirror and her blue eyes appear white that Sansa momentarily wonders if change is progress.

But then the restless settles in her stomach and Sansa decides it must be.

  
  


At first, Theon fades into the shadows.

It’s easy enough; Robb smiles, welcomes him to the party, but there’s a stiffness to his embrace. He quickly stears him away from the adults - from Ned and Cat, specifically - and hands him a drink. It tastes alcoholic and while Theon has avoided alcohol for almost a year, he takes it anyway. With Robb, he can’t afford to be difficult. This is borrowed time, a gift, and he intends to treat it that way.

Sansa, of course, is the center of attention. She handles it all admirably - smiling, laughing, taking compliments and congratulations with grace. Gifts line the walls, but Theon notes that after making a quick note about who gave her the gift, most of them are rewrapped.

Only gifts from her siblings - a scarf from Robb, a book from Jon, a bracelet from Arya, a charm from Bran, a mysterious box from Rickon - are packed away in a different corner of the room.

Idly, Theon wonders if his gift - cash, in an unmarked envelope - will even be opened.

Eventually, the beach-house begins to empty out. Robb had mentioned that he, Jon, and Sansa would be staying overnight, their parents needing to travel back to Winterfell right after dinner with their younger siblings. The average age drops significantly at that point; just Starks, Stark-adjacents, and a handful of people he doesn’t recognize.

Theon remains in the peripheral. He prefers it.

And that’s where Jon finds him. In the back of the living room, leaning against the wall.

“Greyjoy.”

“Snow.”

“How it’s been going?” Jon matches his stance, but his drink is full and clear. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, whereas Theon is wearing black jeans, black socks, and a black long-sleeved dress shirt.

Once upon a time, this was Jon’s uniform. It was almost as if he had raided _Jon’s_ closet.

“Going.” Theon sips his drink, wincing at the sting in his throat. He used to be able to hold his liquor… “Surviving.”

Barely. Thanks to Robb. The guilt is thick.

“That’s good.”

Theon sinks into the shadows, but Jon searches the room until his gaze lands on a young woman laughing with their best friends. Robb covers his mouth as Sam throws his hands wildly, storytelling. Gilly, Sam’s girlfriend, giggles into her drink.

“The girl over there,” says Theon, nodding in the direction of their friends. “Your girlfriend?”

Jon brightens; it’s subtle, his shoulders a little taller, his eyes a little wider. “Ygritte.” He spares Theon a quick glance, but she’s captured his attention. “I can see colors now. Because of her.”

“What color is her hair?”

“Red. Like Sansa’s, but a bit darker.” Jon frowns. “Why can’t you see - ”

“Colors fade,” says Theon, quickly, eyes firmly on anything other than Jon. “I don’t know why, or how, or which ones… but after - after last year, red flickers in and out.” Theon feels Jon staring at him, so he continues to ignore it.

“Robb told me you lived with an ex last year.”

Theon almost smiles, brittle and broken. “Ramsay wasn’t an ex. We didn’t date. We fucked.” There’s a part of him that recoils at that word too, not because it’s too harsh, but it’s too _raw_. Fucking means passion, lust, want.

Theon did not want Ramsay.

He knows there’s a word for _that_ too, but he doesn’t like to think about it.

Jon glances at his drink before downing more of it. “Oh.”

“Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

Theon wishes he could say it isn't awkward, but this is Jon - quiet, introverted, and usually sullen. Whereas Theon would speak brashly, loudly, always aching for attention, Jon would shy away from it.

Now, though, Theon is still brash and rough, but if he can disappear entirely, he’d prefer it. Now, where usually Theon would break awkward silences, instead Jon shifts uncomfortably. “So what are you studying anyway?” he asks, not at all subtly changing the subject.

“I was studying business management.” Theon snorts, harsh and awkward. “Since I’m transferring, at this point I’ll just take _a_ degree.”

“Transferring?”

“To Riverrun. With Robb.” Jon shoots him a confused glance; Theon wonders how much he knows, how much Robb shares with him. A memory of jealousy… but now it fades quickly. Theon has no right.

“Oh, good.” Jon nods, looking off to the side and not at all at him. “That’s… good.”

Theon shoots him a wry smile. “This way he can keep an eye on me, right?”

“Theon - ”

“They all loved you, you know.” Theon recalls sitting in on family dinners, an imposter. Jon would join them, his parents almost always traveling. But whereas Theon kept to himself, only speaking to Robb and later, occasionally, Sansa, Jon was loved as a son and a sibling by the entire family.

“Robb loved you. He _loves_ you, you’re his brother.”

“Sure,” says Theon, shrugging, his foot tapping against the wall. “But you were actually part of the _family_. You belonged. I’m just Robb’s friend.”

Jon says nothing.

“Sorry I stole Robb from you.”

At this, Jon shrugs, an almost smile ghosting his lips. “I think you needed him more than I did.” His gaze falls to his girlfriend, and the smile turns corporeal. “Besides, I found my someone.”

“I’m happy for you.” And it’s not a lie, either.

“Finally realized there was something to this soulmate thing, huh?” Jon chuckles. “Always thought it was weird that you didn’t think they existed when you could actually see color.”

“I always believed they existed, Jon. I just didn’t think there was one for me.” Theon pulls his sleeves further down his wrists, glancing at his feet. “Now I know I was right.”

“Theon - ”

Ygritte appears then, drinks in hand and bright. “Hey, have you guys seen Sansa? Girl’s skipping out on her own party!” Her red hair glows and Theon imagines Jon is grateful to be able to see it.

“I think she went out for some air.” Theon _knows_ she did, having seen her slip out in the corner of his eye. As much as he tries not to watch her, he’s helpless; she’s too bright to lose in the blackness.

Ygritte moves in that direction. “Oh, then I’ll - ”

“Let me.” Theon stands straighter. He doesn’t mean to, but it feels inevitable, him and Sansa and the beach. It’s a conversation that needs to be had; by him or by her, he’s not sure. “I haven’t been out to the beach yet anyway.”

Jon glances at him, eyes a little narrowed, but Ygritte wraps an arm around his waist and grins. “Perfect! Jon and I can challenge Jackass and his nobody friend to beer pong and crush them.”

At the mention of Sansa’s boyfriend, Theon glances at Joffrey, recording himself chugging a beer. Clearly, the boy does not know or care where his girlfriend is.

Theon rolls his eyes. “That’s not going to be hard. And someone should probably remind him he’s underage and the internet is forever.” Exchanging a look with Jon, who gestures in the direction of the backdoor, Theon nods. “But it’s not going to be me.”

Ygritte whispers something in Jon’s ear and Jon blushes. Theon has no idea what she could have possibly said, but he really doesn’t want to know. Instead, he slips out of the house and into the backyard.

The sun has set; pinks and oranges transformed into purple and navy, almost black. This time - right after dusk, not yet quite the peaceful of night, reminds him of Yara. A few weeks ago, he hadn’t seen his sister in years; not since the day she left for college and never came back. The only time he heard from her is on his birthday, when she tells him she’s doing well and that she loves him.

But a few weeks ago, Yara appeared on his doorstep and dragged his bruised, battered body back to Winterfell. And she told him she’s doing well and that she loves him; in person.

Theon inhales; it’s almost summer, the air humid despite the beachy breeze. The smell of salt is only slightly masked by the lingering aroma of the smoke of the grill from dinner. But it’s the water - the ocean waves slapping against themselves, restless and eager, that calms him.

Exhaling, he walks onto the sand, rocks quickly escaping into his socks. But he keeps moving forward… and in the distance, Theon sees her by the water.

  


 

Sansa escapes an hour after her parents and all their friends leave.

It’s a party in _her_ honor, but it’s loud and stifling, and the fresh air is good for her soul. It’s grounding in a way her family usually is; tonight, however, her family drowns her. It’s too overwhelming. She needs to breathe.

So Sansa sinks down into the sand behind the family’s beach house and studies the ocean. The reflection of the moon warped by the water. The stars dancing in the waves.

Not-quite-yellow and not-quite-blue. What is the point of seeing color in these moments, when the world is just contrasts of light and dark anyway?

Sansa inhales, leaning back on her hands as she fills her chest with the smells of salt and smoke and summer. And when she exhales, Theon appears beside her.

She isn’t surprised he finds her.

“Congratulations.”

Sansa glances at him, briefly. She doesn’t need to look long, not after studying him thoroughly during the night. He’s skinnier, smaller, sadder. The hunch in his shoulders feels heavy; every movement of his body looks difficult, hard, as if it requires so much energy that he maybe shouldn’t bother at all.

Despite trying so hard not to care, Sansa wants to know what happened to him.

Instead, she nods. “Thanks.”

Theon sinks down into the sand beside her. There’s a good foot of distance as he curls his knees into his chest, his black socks covered in sand. After a moment, he sighs and relaxes.

Sansa smiles before turning back to the sea. “You always did like the ocean.”

“It reminds me of home.” When Sansa frowns, he shoots her a sideways glance, the corner of his lips quirked upward, a smile tainted in bitterness. He rests his chin on his knees. “I know. Grew up above a bar. But there was this huge painting behind the bar - ” His voice is so nostalgic, eyes cloudy, lost. “A lighthouse, on a small island. Red and white strips, the top of the tower was almost navy. On the shores, there was this beach - empty, just blades of green grass that looked like they were swaying in the breeze... except for the small outline of a man. A bottle with paper inside at his feet.” He blinks and turns his face to look at her. “I don’t know why, but I always associated it with… that feeling. Of home.”

“Hope.” Sansa draws spirals in the sand and doesn’t look at him. “The lighthouse, the message in the bottle… symbols of hope.”

“Huh.”

The silence between them sings: the steady rhythm of the leftover music from the party behind them, lyrics muttered into the sky and into their bones, embracing them. It’s familiar.

They had only seen each other once since the day Theon left for Pyke. The following summer, for a brief moment, when he stood on their doorstep. He had wanted Robb, of course, to spend as much time with him as possible before they separated again. That Theon was not too different than the one who used to drive her home, or who broke down in her arms on their porch. A little older, maybe, a little dimmer, even - as if life was now a shade, hiding his light. But he was still _Theon_. A boy.

The Theon beside her was a different man. Broken, burdened, bruised… but a man.

“I never should have made fun of you for believing in soulmates.”

If Sansa expected him to break the silence, it had not been with _that_.

“Then why did you?” she asks, bending her knees and digging her heels into the sand. Her fingers land on a shell. She spares him a sideways glance.

Theon doesn’t look at her. His back is stiff, his fingers tense against his legs. Long sleeves, long pants - the only inch of his skin visible is his face and hands. Given the scar along his forehead and the permanent bend in his pinky, Sansa can only imagine what else he hides.

When he opens his mouth to respond, Sansa shakes her head instead. “Never mind - don’t answer that.” She studies him some more, especially when he finally looks at her. Bright eyes, black pupils easy enough to drown in. “I know I was naive. Silly and childish.”

He blinks. “No. I was just taking out my own truths on you,” he corrects, looking away.

Sansa doesn’t understand, not really, but she understands Theon enough to know to drop it. Instead: “So why did you do it?” she asks, finally, hugging her legs tight against her body. Maybe to hold herself together for a little longer.

“I thought you just - ”

“Steal from Robb.”

And this time, the silence between them is deafening.

“Robb told you?”

“He didn’t have to.” Her fists clench as she tries to not to scream. “When he came home last summer - trying not to fall apart because his apartment had been _cleaned out_ \- sleeping in his car, with only a handful of clothes…” Sansa inhales, exhales, closes her eyes. Her heart breaks all over again. “He wouldn’t say. Wanted to protect you. Wouldn’t let Dad press charges or investigate it. But I knew… I couldn’t believe it had been you, not at first.”

“But it was.”

“It was.”

Instead of trying to defend himself, offer an excuse, _anything_ , Theon sighs. “If - if things were different, I would not be as forgiving as your brother.” He stretches his legs out. If it weren’t for the specks of sand sprinkled across his body, he’d disappear into the night sky. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare hurt my family again.” And maybe Theon winces, but Sansa doesn’t stop the fire rising in her gut. “If I find out you’ve hurt Robb again -

“I won’t.” His smile, once again, is bitter and self-loathing and Sansa _hates_ it. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

Sansa’s not sure if she wants to punch him or hug him.

It’s when she’s staring at him, trying to decide, that Theon catches her eyes again. His face is suddenly serious, eyes hard. Sansa frowns even before he speaks. “I heard you’re going to King’s Landing to go to college with Joffrey.”

Sansa straightens, her braid tossed behind her. “How is that any of your - ”

“Don’t use that boy as an excuse to run away.” For the first time all night, Theon faces her completely, legs crossed in front of him. For a moment, Sansa sees an echo of Theon-gone mixed in with the Theon-present. A new Theon. “You deserve so much better, Sansa Stark.”

It’s unnerving, Theon reaching into her chest and pulling out strains of her soul, reading a summary of her fears and wishes. Sansa crosses her arms, an armor. “You of all people have _no_ right to talk about running away.” She shakes her head, sharply. “I’m not running away. I’m running _to_ something. Someone.”

Theon still frowns. “He’s not your soulmate.”

Sansa laughs, bitter and loud. “I thought soulmates don’t exist?”

A pause, a heartbeat, when the sea breeze is loud and her body threatens to pull itself apart.

Theon responds softly, flatly, desperately.

“I thought you’d believe in them enough for the both of us.”

All the words she thought she’d say to him; all the times she imagined him in front of her, waiting for the chance to share how much she missed him, how much she hated him, how much she…

Sansa didn’t think Theon broke her heart three years ago, on the front porch of her childhood home because she didn’t cry, didn’t spend hours holed up in her room watching movies and eating ice cream. She didn’t think Theon _could_ break her heart; he was her brother’s best friend, maybe hers, but he was just a boy she knew, who could see color too.

Now, though… Sansa stands, dusting off the sand from her dress. “The world has always been shades of gray, Theon.” Shaking her head, she walks backwards, away from him, towards something else. “You just make it seem black and white.”

The last image before she looks away: Theon Greyjoy lying in the sand, fading into the black sky; nothing more than a shadow.


	3. iii. white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite death, life moves on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reworked some parts of my outline, so I highly suggest re-reading chapter 1! It's mainly stuff that's been taken out so that this is more of the slowburn that I want. The first two chapters are really one long prologue... and this chapter introduces the meat of the story.

****

 

****_ 4 years later… _

 

Seven years ago, his mom died.

Theon never stepped into the bar since.

Until this day, at the beginning of summer, when the weather can’t quite decide whether it wants to be warm or cool, to storm or be sunny. The humidity weeps; sudden grey skies interrupt long periods of sunshine as the heat begins to burn away the disappointment of failed new beginnings.

And on this day in late May, Theon walks into  _ Pyke _ and frowns.

For the most part, everything is the same. The same stench of alcohol and musk; streaks of shadows hiding secrets and scandals. At first, Theon feels the same dread and fear he felt as a child, searching corners for large men with guns or money. But then he sees the dust covering every surface, the stickiness of the floor as he walks towards the bar. It’s unkempt and stale; the bar used to be dark and scary, but it was living.

Now it’s just dead.

Like his father.

Theon walks to the back, to Balon’s office. When the door swings open, the hinges squeak and for a moment, he catches a whiff of dust and alcohol that tastes tangy. Wincing, he steps into the one room he has never entered before - it’s almost a mystery what lies in this office.

But it’s not at all surprising.

Boxes, haphazardly stacked and ripped; papers scattered everywhere; empty bottles littered on the floor. It’s as messy and unorganized as Theon expects; when he sinks into the seat behind the desk, he’s not surprised to see a different kind of dust, white sprinkled across the wood. The handwriting on the papers in front of him is shaky, messy, not at all thoughtful.

Balon had died from a bullet to the head, but he had lost it years before in the bottom of a bottle.

As Theon sits, he studies the room some more. Flood stains color the ceiling tiles and several filing cabinets are stuffed full and left open. The files on the desk seem unfinished and mildly important. Everything in that room is chaos, but Theon can only feel calm. Peace.

Balon is dead and Theon is alive and the bar is  _ his _ now.

“He owed a lot of money.” Yara stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, face wrinkled in distaste. “Lawyer said - he’s in debt. By a lot.”

“I want it. I want to run it -  _ properly _ . Legally.” Theon pushes some of the papers aside so he actually seen the deep wood of the desk. His hand rests there. “I can do it, Yara.”

“I know you can.” She steps forward, carefully avoiding stepping on bottles or trash. “And I want to help. But it’s going to hard. These people - ” She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, glancing at the boarded and barred window. “They aren’t going to stop until they squeeze this place out of everything it’s worth.”

“I won’t let them.” It’s not much - it’s not  _ anything _ , really. He’s just a man with a degree in economics and a handful of dollars to his name; no place to live, only one friend and one sister to depend on. But he  _ wants _ this. He wants to take this dead thing and make it live again.

Yara doesn’t say anything, just stares at him. He hasn’t seen her much in the years since  _ him _ , but when she showed up in Riverrun, exhausted with sad eyes and stuff posture, Theon hugged her. And she whispered into his ear: “he’s dead, little brother. He’s finally dead.”

And Theon only cried tears of relief.

Now, as he sits at Balon’s desk -  _ his _ desk now - he revisits memories long buried - Balon sitting in the same spot, an almost empty bottle of whiskey in his hands and a carousel of shady characters through the door. He never left, only climbed the stairs to his family to shout or sleep. 

Theon’s hand curls over the side of the desk. “There’s still the Harlow inheritance.” When Yara stiffens and looks to protest, Theon shakes his head. “Mom would want this.”

“Last time I checked, there’s still the stipulation. Neither of us would pass a soulmate test.”

Theon doesn’t argue, because she’s not wrong, but there  _ has _ to be a way. They need the money, and it’s  _ there _ , in a fund set up by their mother before they were even born. But Alannys Harlow-Greyjoy believed in soulmates; Theon recalls the bedtime stories -  _ I never met my soulmate, dear Theon, but you and your sister… you must find yours. Happiness lies in your soul’s mate  _ \- with both wistfulness and frustration. 

He sees the world as it’s meant to be - dancing in swirls of color, not just black and white - but his soul is firmly his own and no one else’s. He has no mate. Despite his mother’s only dream for him, Theon doesn’t deserve it.

Frowning in thought, Theon taps his fingers against the desk. “I might have an idea - ”

But then his phone rings.

_ Robb _ . Frowning, he glances at his sister. Yara is slowly studying every crook of the room, her face both uncomfortable and strangely curious.

Theon picks up. “Hello?”

“Theon.” Immediately, it’s obvious something is wrong. Robb’s voice is heavy, deep, cracking. Theon’s heart seizes in a way it didn’t when Yara whispered in his ear. “I - Mom and Dad - Theon, I need you.”

“I’m on my way.”

 

 

 

The funeral passes quickly.

At some point, Arya holds her hand as they listen to Robb give the eulogy. Rickon buries himself in her side, and Bran sits with both Jojen and Meera who take turns whispering comforts to him. Jon and Ygritte are quiet, silent, but there: steady anchors. When Robb finishes, he doesn’t cry although his voice is shaky.

Sansa’s focus is shot; has been since Arya called her - summoned her, really, from King’s Landing. But she’s aware enough to recognize the man Robb sits beside at the very end of the row. He’s been around, Sansa knows, but they haven’t spoken. He’s a silent, invisible presence. A comfort. A familiarity.

There’s too much of that now. Everywhere she turns, it’s family and support; but it’s also ghosts, memories of a past now shattered. Everything is faded now anyway. Ygritte’s hair seems duller, the grass of the cemetery appears dead, the sky is gray. If her world hadn’t seemed muted for years now Sansa may have thought it was just the weather.

When they open the caskets for the viewing, Sansa stays in her seat. Instead, she watches her family's faces - Robb’s uncontrolled pain, Jon’s deeper sullenness, Arya’s hardened mask, Bran’s complete anguish, Rickon’s lost confusion. At least their emotions mirror hers; at least their faces are alive.

As other family and more friends take their moments, Sansa watches the sky. Clouds hover and glide and Sansa doesn’t know how long she sits staring upwards, but eventually someone sits down beside her.

“I never could see anything in the clouds. They all look like blobs to me.”

She doesn’t look at him, can’t, but lets his voice embrace her instead. A warm embrace, a wool blanket covering her shoulders. “It’s all about creativity. They’re all blobs. But sometimes if you want to see something in them, you will.”

Theon’s voice sounds louder, but also softer. He’s probably looking at her. “What do you want to see?”

The words stick to her throat, clogged by unshed tears. Sansa tries to keep the pain in her ribs, in her chest; she shed tears the first night, in her room and in private, but not  _ now _ , with all eyes on her. Waiting for her to break. 

Instead, she looks at him. Theon wears his suit well, despite the off-fit. His hair is combed, gelled, mistreated. No longer as thin or broken as before, but not the loud and lost soul from  _ before _ either. A combination, something new, different - a new tree born from fertilizer ash. The tears sink back into her stomach, where they stay as they stare at each other.

“I don’t know,” she finally answers, honestly. Because lies hurt too much, require too much energy, and it’s  _ Theon _ . Her eyes close for a moment, remembering the last time they spoke, sand beneath her fingers. “You were right.” When she looks at him, it’s not pity in his eyes; it’s understanding. “About Joffrey.”

“I didn’t want to be.” His shoulder slump slightly, but there’s an edge to his body, to his movements. As if he’s slowly building himself, bone by bone, but the foundation is unsteady. His eyes are so blue. “I’m sorry. For - everything.”

Sansa doesn’t accept his apology; she can’t, not when she doesn’t think she deserves it. Instead, she watches the grass sway in the wind. “Why aren’t you viewing?”

“I’m not family,” says Theon as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Sansa frowns and begins to protest - but Theon shakes his head. “No, I’m not, Sansa. Ned and Cat were so nice to me, feeding me and letting me crash whenever I needed to. But - but I repaid them for their kindness by stealing from their son.” Sighing, he studies the clouds again but Sansa cannot look away from his face. He’s not sad; he’s resigned. “As much as I may have wanted differently, they weren’t my parents.”

Sansa keeps staring at him. “You used to be an asshole.” Sansa tilts her head when Theon looks back at her, neck still leaning against the plastic, white chair. It might be rude, but he doesn’t look away, matching her stare for stare.

Theon raises an eyebrow. “Used to?”

“Then you were broken.”

A smile, small and tentative and not at all complete. “Feels like I still am.”

“I like this version of you better.”  _ Can I stop being broken too? _

Theon straightens then. He looks at her,  _ through _ her, as if he can read her thoughts and write the book on them with expert commentary. Her heart aches. “I’m not so sure I do.” His voice is low, heavy, but not cracking. 

Sansa turns away from him and watches the casket close on her parent’s bodies instead. “I guess I’ll have to tolerate you enough for the both of us then.”

“I’ve always wanted to be tolerated.”

Sansa doesn’t imagine the smile in his voice.

 

 

 

Sitting in the living room with the Starks reminds him of his childhood. The happy times, when there was hope for a future and love and everything Sansa used to gush about.

Even now, after life has chewed him up and spit him back out, seeing this family come together gives him some hope. That maybe he can have this too.

Maybe.

In the meantime, he sits on the living room floor, petting the various dogs that have appeared in front of him. He still remembers the day he had stumbled here, after swim practice during his senior year of high school. Swinging the door open, he had expected to find Starks littering the various rooms of the house; instead, they weren’t home.

A text message inquiry later, Theon learned that they had gone to the pound and adopted six puppies.

Summer rests on his left knee, Ghost right beside him, while Shaggydog spins in circle in front of him. Greywind is on his right side, curled up right beneath his elbow. Nymeria stays away in the corner, but occasionally approaches to nudge her nose against his back before retreating.

Lady, of course, perches herself in his lap.

So occupied with the pets in front of him, Theon almost misses his name thrown into the conversation.

“ - and since Theon and I moved back, we’ve been crashing with Talisa - ”

“Don’t worry about me,” says Theon quickly. “You’ve been itching to move in proper for a while now. I can find my own place.”

Arya sends a frown in Robb’s direction. “You and Talisa are moving in together? But she’s not your soulmate.” When Robb’s face slips into one almost dreamlike in quality, she rolls her eyes. “Right. Answers that question.”

“You’re not the one sleeping on their couch.” Theon rubs behind Summer’s ears before Lady buries her nose into his neck. “The walls are thin.”

“Gross.”

“I actually just signed a lease on a new apartment.”

Sansa’s voice, like always, cuts through the conversations. Everyone stares at her; she shifts uncomfortably from her spot on the floor, leaning against Bran on the couch. Her brother frowns down at her. “You didn’t say anything about moving.”

Sansa glances up at Bran, briefly around the room, before her eyes stay on the unused fireplace. “I can’t stay here.” She turns to Jon and Ygritte. “You don’t mind, do you? It’s just Rickon - ”

“I’m perfectly capable of living by myself - ”

“And I’ll still be close by. It’s just…” Sansa bites her lip, hands twisting in her lap.

“The memories are too much.” Theon didn’t mean to say it out-loud, but the words escape faster than he can think about it, and even when everyone turns to look at him, he stays focused on Sansa. “Too… loud.” 

She nods. There’s a moment of hesitation, when it feels like it’s only the two of them in the room, despite literally her entire remaining family sitting there watching. She’s debating saying something, the words stuck on her lips, and he’s just about to absolve her from it when: “You can move into the extra bedroom, if you want.”

Words are hard to summon in that moment, so Theon just stares with his mouth slightly open. Arya giggles from above him, somewhere. “You really want to live with this prick?”

Sansa shrugs, although a slight blush colors her cheeks. “He said he needed a place to stay, and I wouldn’t mind having someone to split rent with…” Her eyes dull a little and Rickon curls up into her side. She ruffles his hair before kissing it. Even as she rests her chin on her brother’s head, Sansa looks at him. “There could be worse roommates.”

Lady licks his face and Theon snorts. “Well it appears I won’t have any issues with the dog.” Lady whines, a little, but pants happily when Theon scratches under her head. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take you up on that.”

“Is no one gonna ask me if I mind?” says Robb, slightly pouting, but eyes twinkling. Jon kicks him. “Ow!”

“No one cares if you mind,” says Sansa without looking. At Theon, she nods. “I’m moving in next Saturday.”

“Then I will too.” He glances around the room - Rickon’s eyes are heavy,  Bran is fast asleep already, and Arya yawns. “And we can recruit this crew to help.”

Ygritte, curled into Jon, groans. “I’ll only do it if you buy me pizza.”

“Deal.”

And one by one, the Starks find rooms to sleep in, their respective dogs following along. Theon stands and stretches, perfectly content to crash on the couch for the night. Sansa lingers.

“Second guessing asking me to live with you?” he asks as he sinks onto the sofa and Lady nudges him. Rubbing behind her ears, he quietly laments all the fur currently covering his clothes. 

“No.” Sansa sighs, arms crossed. “I’m sorry for just - throwing that out there. In front of everyone.” Her ankles cross as she avoids his eyes. “If you don’t want to - ”

“I want to.” Theon sighs. “You’re right - rent is cheaper with a roommate and if I can help you out with that - I know Robb and Jon would rather it be me.”

Sansa bites her lip. “It’s not going to be a problem for you? Living with a girl?”

Theon almost laughs, but somehow manages to resist. “No, it won’t be a problem.” He’s done it before, and with men who he’s been sleeping with, but she doesn’t need to know that. But Theon does narrow his eyes. “Is it a problem for you?”

Straightening, Sansa shakes her head. “Of course not.” There’s a moment where Theon thinks about calling her out on her hesitation - her lie - but then Sansa shakes her head. “Alright. Well. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Sansa disappears up the stairs to her room. Theon stretches out on the couch, adjusting to make himself comfortable. He expects Lady to follow her human, but instead she jumps onto the sofa and curls up beside him.

Theon falls asleep smiling.

  
  


 

Moving takes all day.

After unloading most of the boxes - and taking a break to eat Ygritte’s required pizza - Sansa begins sorting things into their proper rooms. Ygritte, Talisa, and Arya - much to Sansa’s surprise - offer to help.

“These look like - towels?” says Talisa frowning at her box. 

Sansa glances at her before returning to labeling the box - Theon’s, obviously - in front of her. “Just put it by the white wall in the second bedroom.”

“Oh, um - ”

“All the walls are white, Sansa,” says Arya, tapping her foot in annoyance. 

Sansa winces; she honestly forgot in the chaos. “Right, sorry. Um, just put it next to the closet.”

Talisa smiles kindly, although there’s a slight nervousness in her gait as she disappears. Arya moves so she’s standing right above Sansa. “You okay?”

“Just stressed, you know,” says Sansa, not looking at her sister but at the box filled with plates and silverware. “This needs to go to the kitchen - ”

“Oh, perfect!” Ygritte walks in with Talisa and immediately shuts the doors. “The boys are outside so this is the perfect opportunity for me to do my womanly duty.”

Sansa raises an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

Ygritte smirks and Sansa tries not to shift uncomfortably. Arya, for her part, just sinks to the floor beside her and waits.

“So obviously you and Theon are not together,” says Ygritte.

“Obviously.”

“And both of you deserve to have active sex lives - ”

“Okay,” says Sansa, putting her hands up. “I’m going to stop you right there.”

Ygritte waves her off. “This is my right as your basically older sister.” Ygritte sits down too now, right in front of the Stark sisters and Talisa hesitates before joining them. “As much as you might want to engage in a threesome with Theon - ”

“I definitely do  _ not _ want that.”

“ - it’s best since you two are living together to not, you know, have sex with each other - ”

“Again, no plans on doing that. I’m sure Theon has no problems finding people to sleep with him, he doesn’t need me for that.” If Sansa’s not blushing, then it’s suddenly gotten very hot in the apartment.

Talisa might snort, or maybe laugh, Sansa isn’t really sure. “Theon’s fine. He’s not sleeping with a new person every night or anything - ” Talisa tilts her head, frowning slightly as she eyes Ygritte and Sansa for a moment, but shakes her head. “He’s fine.”

“Exactly.” Sansa sits straighter. “Theon and I will probably talk about this stuff, so we don’t need to - ”

“What about you?” Arya finally speaks, eyes locked on her. 

Sansa hopes she doesn’t shift under her sister’s gaze. “What about me?”

“It’s been two years since - ”

“I’m fine,” says Sansa sharply. Perhaps more sharply than she intended because Arya’s eyes narrow and Talisa looks uncomfortable. Sansa softens. “I’m fine, Arya. I promise.”

“Would you tell us if you weren’t?” asks Ygritte, her face a mix of understanding and concern. There might be a tinge of pity and Sansa hates it. “You know we’re - ”

“I’m  _ fine _ and if I wasn’t, I have plenty of annoying family members to whine about it to,” says Sansa. Rolling her shoulders, she taps the hardwood floor before standing. “Alright, the boys are probably wondering where we, let’s get back to it.”

Ygritte and Arya exchange a look - Sansa wants to snap at them - but they don’t argue her change of subject. Talisa stretches out her neck before standing too. “Okay, what’s next?”

Sansa smiles at her gratefully. Not knowing why the room was so heavy, so thick with tension… and yet, still so kind and helpful. Sansa approves. “Why don’t we start organizing some of the boxes in the kitchen…”

Ygritte and Talisa lead the way, but Arya pulls at Sansa’s sleeve to hold them back. “You sure you’re okay with this? Moving into your own place, Theon…”

Sansa shakes her off, but gently. “I’m sure.” Playing with the tail of her braid, Sansa watches Arya’s shoulders rise and fall. “I couldn’t live here alone, Arya.”

“I can - ”

“No.” Sansa shakes her head and finally looks at her little sister. Arya has grown, is in college now too, but she’s still her  _ little sister _ . “You don’t want to be in Winterfell right now. You need to get out there, have adventures, explore. I can take care of the family. Of Theon.”

“I know you can,” says Arya, sighing before starting towards the door. “But who’s going to take care of you?”

Sansa ignores the clench in her stomach. “I can take care of myself.”

“You can.” Arya shakes her head and leaves, but not before: “but will you?”

Sansa tries not to worry that she doesn’t know the answer.

 

 

 

By late afternoon, Theon and Robb have almost finished unloading the van completely. Theon pops open the trunk. Exhausted and slightly dehydrated, Theon sighs in relief, glad to see only two boxes left. Robb echoes him.

But before picking up a box of books - Theon’s - Robb turns to him instead. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Theon drags the last box - unlabeled so he doesn’t have any idea what might be in it - towards his body.

Robb rubs the back of his neck. “No I mean - this is the first time we haven’t lived together since - ”

“I’ll be fine.” Theon shrugs, lightly, as nonchalantly as he dares. “My dad’s dead so he can’t manipulate me into selling drugs and Ramsay can’t manipulate me into fucking him again, so… I think I’m good.”

Robb frowns but doesn’t comment on Theon’s bitter tone. “You know you can talk to me, right? Anytime.”

“I know,” says Theon with a small smile, more of a tensing of his jaw and twist of his lips. He  _ does _ know - Robb is his only friend, his  _ best _ friend. 

“Even if Talisa and I are together and everything - ”

“She makes you happy, right? You’re happy?” Theon waits and Robb nods, his smile more genuine. Theon tries to match it. “I’ll be fine.”

Robb hugs him, a gentle slap on the back and a tight embrace and Theon feels an emotion slip into his throat. But Robb lets go before Theon needs to worry about crying on his best friend.

They unload the last boxes and when Jon comes back out to close the trunk, the three of them stand on the sidewalk for a moment.

“This is weird, right?” asks Theon, staring at the two of them - his brothers, really, if not by blood than in everything else.

“You moving in with my cousin? Robb living with someone who he’s not married to  _ or _ his soulmate?” Jon snorts. “Yes.”

“No, the three of us just standing here.”

Robb shoves him - or as much as a shove as he can give with a box in his arms - towards the door and Theon laughs, almost brightly, while Jon curses under his breath.

It feels normal. It feels like… a something. A beginning, maybe? Definitely not an ending.

Eventually, they all leave: Arya with Jon and Ygritte and the leftover pizza, Robb with Talisa and the leftover beer. And then there’s just Theon, Sansa, and Chinese take-out. 

“Okay, so I’ll pick up Lady tomorrow, but we should start unpacking soon or else - ” Loudly while sighing in exhaustion, Theon sinks into the couch. Sansa looks down at him with a surprised frown. “What are you doing?”

“Having dinner.” He slides over a cartoon of Chinese towards her before opening a bottle of soda and pouring some into a paper cup. “You should join me.”

Sansa studies him for a second before taking a seat. Out of the corner of his eye, as he mixes rice and noodles onto a paper plate, he notices Sansa do the same. 

“You ever wonder if there’s a reason why you were born seeing color?” He purposefully takes a decent-sized bite and chews as Sansa contemplates her answer. She seems to have accepted the sidetrack from unpacking and Theon appreciates seeing her like this - relaxed. 

She twirls noodles around her white, plastic fork. “Maybe I’m my own soulmate.” Lifting her fork, she says with a small smile, “maybe this soul doesn’t have a partner, but just needs to be stronger on its own.” She stuffs her mouth with food.

Theon ponders that. The theory feels familiar - except he  _ knows _ he has a soulmate, a person, someone, somewhere. “You are strong.” It’s a truth long buried, somewhere beneath his annoyance with her. But she’s familiar and they’re living together, and if he can’t be honest with  _ Sansa _ \- “maybe you’re right and you’re your own soulmate. It’s probably because you don’t  _ need _ one - you’re strong enough on your own.”

He doesn’t know the entire story, just bits and pieces from Robb - Sansa, withering away at university, rarely talking to them while the family worries - but Theon recognizes a steel heart when he sees one. Sansa’s must soften just a bit.

“I’m glad you think so.” She stares down at the white, paper cup in her hands. “You’re strong too, you know.”

Leaning back, Theon props his feet onto the table. Food in his lap and cup raised, Theon smiles. “Cheers, roomie.”

With a small grin, Sansa taps her cup against his. “Cheers.”

And even if their white socks are now covered in dirt as they sit in an unpacked living room with boxes all around them, Theon thinks this could be something like home.


	4. iv. brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Sansa come to an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a huge chunk in the middle that contains an abusive relationship, emotional manipulation, and sexual harassment. Joffrey and Baelish are in it.

 

****

 

 

 

Living with Sansa is surprisingly easy.

They’re both decent cooks; Theon makes pretty great breakfast for them on weekends but otherwise Sansa usually fixes herself a bowl of cereal or oatmeal. Lunches they make on their own, but Sansa offers to pack Theon a sandwich or a snack. And dinners they end up cooking together, sometimes shared with another family member or friend, since they seem to visit frequently.

For the first couple days Theon worries he’s too messy for prim and proper Sansa - but it turns out, other than a clean sink and a clean bathroom, she’s not too bad. Theon jokes that she’ll rearrange the couch pillows, but Sansa shrugs and switches two books on the bookcase with only the barely hints of a smile.

They do the dishes together.

Living with Sansa is so easy that Theon sometimes forgets to be _uncomfortable_.

Like that morning, with only a towel wrapped around his hips, he slips out of the bathroom to change in his room - only to run into his roommate. He grabs her waist and her hands land on his bare chest instinctually; and for the longest moment, he doesn’t move. Because she’s in cotton shorts and a thin tank-top and frankly it’s hard to think with her hands on his _bare chest_.

Not to mention the cleavage peeking out at him… it’s too much.

Theon blinks first and clears his throat, dropping his hands, and Sansa immediately follows. She blushes, a flush that captures her face and travels lower and Theon has to force himself to look at her hair - no, above her hair, above _her_ \- so he doesn’t follow the line of her blush down her skin, down her neck and chest and - 

“Sorry,” she squeals and Theon sighs before stepping out of the doorway. “I was about to knock - ”

Theon shakes his head. “No problem.” He finally looks at her. She’s biting her lip and it doesn’t help. “Um - it’s fine, it’s bound to - ” There’s blood rushing lower and her hair is a messy pile on top of her head, with strands escaping to outline her cheek bones… “Right. I’m going to - ” He points to his room and Sansa nods and Theon leaves before he can spend anymore time entertaining the thoughts rattling around in his brain.

Theon knows Sansa’s attractive; he’s known that for _years_ , when he convinced himself she was his sister, in a short skirt cheerleader uniform and with a bright laugh. He knew that at her graduation when she judged him, sentenced him. But now - with a bit of her sparkle dimmed and the red in her hair just a tinge darker than usual even though the blue of her eyes still remind him of drowning…

 _Fuck_.

Theon wears jeans that day even if he has no intention of leaving the house.

Despite the awkward - because it is awkward for your best friend’s little sister and now roommate to see you mostly naked and _like it_ \- morning encounter, breakfast is as easy is always. Theon makes Sansa some toast - with avocado, her favorite - to go along with their matching smoothies. 

It’s sitting ready for her on the table when she finally arrives, dressed in tight jeans and a flowy top, phone glued to her ear and hair cascading on her shoulders.

Theon drinks half his smoothie in one gulp.

In that moment, he’s thankful he’s always showered first: who knows what detours he would go on surrounded by the smell of Sansa’s shampoo.

“Everything is fine, I’m fine, Theon’s fine,” says Sasna as she pours herself a glass of orange juice, giving him an eye roll. Theon tries not to smile at the paperwork in front of him - financials from the bar, a list of names to whom his father owed, his mother’s will… - but Sansa continues to appease whoever is on the line. “Tell Bran I need his help to fix the privacy settings on my phone again.” A pause, the voice a little shriller. Maybe Arya then. More likely Robb. “No, Robb, I got a new phone, nothing happened.” A sigh. “I promised, didn’t I? I’ll tell you if - ” 

Robb continues for a while and Sansa slowly swirls her orange juice. Downcast and troubled eyes… Theon frowns, just as Sansa does. “I’m fine. I have Theon here so - ” Robb must cut off her again and Theon tries to tamp down on the curiosity. If it was his business, she’d tell him. Another long, deeper sigh, this time with frustration more than anything. “I’ve been applying to jobs all week. And no, I don’t _need to find my soulmate_ \- don’t worry about it, okay? I’m fine.”

Robb might start to say something - if Theon knows if his best friend, and he does, it’s likely something stupid - but Sansa cuts him off. “I love you Robb, but I need to go. We can talk later.” A pause. “Bye.”

When Sansa unceremoniously drops into her chair, orange juice in one hand and her phone dropping to the table with the other, Theon studies her carefully. “Robb?”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “He means well, I know it, but…” She shakes her head. “I’m _fine._ ”

“Fine isn’t happy.” Theon doesn’t look at her, not really, because his eyes are stuck on the will in front of him. _The inheritance shall pass to my surviving children, on the sole condition that they have found their soulmate as confirmed by the Federal Agency of the Verification of Soulmates (FAVS)._ He looks up, at Sansa, bright red hair and bright blue eyes… that study the orange juice in front of her as if the color is blinding. 

“You’re still looking for a job then?” Theon flips over the paper in his hand, but he’s not really looking at it. He’s known for a while that Sansa has been reaching out to newspapers and publishers and advertisers to support a blog...

Sansa sighs. “Yes… finding a job as a writer is… difficult.” 

“What type of writing?”

“Mainly non-fiction. Biographies and research… I did have to take a creative writing class, though.” Tapping her phone against the table, she bites her lip. Theon doesn’t think of replacing her teeth with his own.

Instead, in that moment, it clicks. The plan forming in his brain makes _sense_ \- and the final puzzle piece sits in front of him. “So you’re familiar with creating a story then.”

“Yes.” Her eyes narrow. “What’s this about?” asks Sansa, frowning. “You look like - like you have an idea that I’m probably not going to like.”

“Will you pretend to be my soulmate?”

Sansa slowly lowers her glass. “What?”

Theon pushes the paper in front of him towards her. The will, _Alannys Harlow Greyjoy_ written in curved print, spirals curled to look fancier than it truly is. But the number - the amount of money in that fund… Sansa blinks. “What is this?”

“Mum’s will.” Theon leans back in his chair, just slightly, because his shoulders are tense. This is _the_ moment - if Sansa says no… “Balon - my dad - he - ”

“The bastard’s dead,” says Sansa. When Theon blinks at her, surprised at the vehemence, Sansa blushes. “Sorry - I just figured - ” She shrugs and looks down. “Sorry.”

Theon moves his chair closer, but doesn’t dare touch her. Her words echo in his chest anyway. “You’re right. He was a bastard.” Sansa catches his eyes. “He died and he owed a lot of people a lot of money.”

“And you need your inheritance to pay it all back.” Her hands twist together on the table. “And you need a soulmate?”

“I need you,” says Theon, without thinking about it. When Sansa’s head snaps up to catch his eyes again, Theon feels his face grow warm and he rubs the back of his neck. “I mean - I mean, I need _you_ to be my soulmate. Fake soulmate. Pretend. With me.”

Sansa tilts her head, but there’s an edge of a smile at her lips and Theon grows warmer. “You don’t know who your soulmate is? Still?” Theon shakes his head and her smile softens. “Even if I didn’t ever - appreciate it - I’m glad you saw colors too, you know.”

“So?” asks Theon nervously. Sansa pushes the fading paper back towards him and he gently places it back in the brown ledger with everything else. The muddling colors are swirling in his mind in that moment; it’s almost too much, the anticipation and the dread and the _hope_ \- and then Sansa nods.

“I’ll pretend to be your soulmate.” Sansa leans forward, resting on her forearms, and her eyes pierce his. “But you have to pretend it’s real.”

Maybe if _he_ had been the one drinking the juice, Theon would be choking. Instead, he stiffens in surprise. “What?”

“Arya doesn’t believe in soulmates. Fine,” says Sansa with a shrug. “But Robb is living with a woman who isn’t his soulmate and Jon and Ygritte are happy and in love.” There’s an uneasiness to her posture, especially when she shifts in her seat and looks more at his arms than his face. “They - they’re worried about me and I don’t want them to be.”

“So you want to use me to get them off your back?” Theon doesn’t mean to be defensive, but the thought of _lying_ to the only family he’s known, other than Yara...

“Isn’t that what you’re doing too?” asks Sansa, just as sharp. “Using me? To pay off your - Balon’s debts?” She sighs, tucking hair behind her ear. Theon only just notices how her hand shakes before it disappears beneath the kitchen table. “Just - we don’t need to kiss or anything. Just hold hands, pretend to flirt. To be in love. We’re living together, it’s not too much of a stretch.”

It’s one thing to lie to nameless strangers that they’re soulmates. They both see color, after all, so it isn’t like they’re _lying_ \- they _have_ met their soulmate. But this - lying to Robb and Jon and Arya and Bran and Rickon… to Ygritte and Talisa and whoever else, just to perpetuate Sansa’s desire to _hide_ \- to hide the haunting truth.

That maybe…

Theon narrows his eyes. “ _Are_ you okay? Are you fine?” He leans closer, not letting her look away. Her blue eyes are easy enough to drown in, but right now he’ll anchor himself in the sea instead. “Because if you’re just doing this to _hide_ \- ”

“No.” Sansa sits straighter. “I _am_ okay. Not - not perfect, but I’m getting there.” Her fingers curl together tighter. “But they - I just need them to not worry about me, okay?” She flickers her gaze beyond his shoulder, for just a minute, as if a ghost lingers and she’s really talking to it and not to him. “Please.”

Theon tenses his jaw, for just a moment. Maybe it’s the way her voice doesn’t break, is actually fairly steady, or the way she reminds him - she reminds him of _him_ , before, when his broken pieces struggled to fit together and Robb cast pitying looks. And while Robb meant well, the pity is grating, frustrating… and it distracted Theon from _healing_.

Theon isn’t sure what cuts and bruises Sansa has, but if she needs his help to heal, then he’ll help her. 

Even if he’s still trying to bandage himself together.

Theon reaches out, his hand on hers. She flips it, palms together, fingers curling together. Her skin is pale. Soft. Clearing his throat, he talks to their joined hands. 

“Then let’s be soulmates.”

 

 

 

_By Halloween, Sansa accepts that maybe Theon - and everyone else - was right._

You deserve better, Sansa Stark.

_But does she?_

_It starts with her roommate. Sweet, fairly quiet… but quite judgemental, in Joffrey’s mind. Weak. When she questions why Joffrey picks out Sansa’s outfits or convinces her to change her schedule so she can make him lunch on Wednesdays, Joffrey petitions to get her a new roommate._

_Her RA, Shae, smiles kindly and nods. But on those nights where Joffrey is too drunk to remember he has a girlfriend or when Sansa fakes a headache, Shae sits with her quietly, offering her ice cream and junk food and water._

_Shae wears a lot of pink, Sansa notices._

_Or maybe it’s suppose to be red. Sansa decides it’s pink, purposefully faded to be kinder and sweeter and unassuming._

_Sansa starts wearing more pink too._

_The first time Joffery hits her - it’s more of a slap, out of anger and immediately followed by apologies and tender kisses and love-making - it’s two weeks into classes. Sansa worries about her grades, slightly, because there’s just no time for reading or writing papers or keeping up with the notes when Joffrey needs her to be his date to functions and cook for him in the apartment he’s technically not allowed to live in as a first year but does anyway._

_Sansa spends many nights there._

_It’s hard to sleep in his arms, hot and sweaty, as she stares at blonde hair and the ceiling._

_She doesn’t sleep much at all those first few months._

_Halloween night, Joffrey punches her in the shoulder and while she cradles her arm, he kisses her hair and her neck and seduces her with apologies and promises and_ I love you, Sansa, I’m so sorry - you make me so _angry_ sometimes, you’re so pretty but you’re _mine_ and when you’re dressed like that…

_Sansa lets Joffrey strip her of her costume - a white dress that flows down her thighs and when she twists, spins around her knees, the halo on her head already on the floor - before he pushes her to her knees._

_After, lying in his bed, Joffrey’s hair looks almost white, the sheets more gray than blue, and her own hair looks black under her cheek._

 

_The holidays are stiff and uneventful. Sansa leaves on Boxing Day to spend the rest of break with Joffrey. Not his family, because he doesn’t think she should meet them, but just him and an empty apartment and with little to no clothes._

 

_When the new semester begins and Sansa hates all her classes - because she didn’t really pick them, not really, not when Joffrey rearranges her schedule again to make sure the timings don’t clash with his - she sinks to the floor of Shae’s room and doesn’t cry._

_She doesn’t cry because the tears are frozen in her chest, a dull ache threatening to tear her apart, especially when all the pink in Shae’s room is just an uneven gray, shadows of what was. Instead, she just looks at her only friend - not even that, just another young woman tasked to look out for these exact situations, when silly, useless girls are too weak to help themselves - and Shae understands what she needs._

_Almost as if it’s not real, as if it’s not really her life, Sansa watches herself break up with Joffrey over text, block his number, and file a restraining order with both the police and the university._

_She sees him six times in the next three and a half years. The first two times are in the next month, when he begs for her to come back to him - tears turn into yells which turn into threats, and Shae expertly handles all of it. The third is a party at the beginning of her second year, where Joffrey glares at her before purposefully grabbing a beautiful brunette and sticking his tongue down her throat._

_That’s the first time she sees Margaery Tyrell._

_It isn’t until the fourth time she sees Joffrey - in the summer before her third year, where she decides to stay in King’s Landing and work as an intern and avoid home and the stares and the questions - that she actually_ meets _Margaery Tyrell._

_Relaxing at the bar after a long day at work - her boss, Peytr Baelish, is a Professor and runs a paid internship over the summer for select journalism students; the potential for a full-time job after graduation keeps Sansa under pressure to perform to his high expectations - Sansa is halfway through her vodka-soda when Margaery sits down beside her._

_“Sansa Stark,” she says, red lips turned into a smirk and a bright blue drink in her hands. Except it’s all a murky brown and her nails are sharp._

_Sansa recognizes her. But somehow she doesn’t frown and instead tries to match Margaery’s cool seduction. “Margaery Tyrell.” She tilts her head, letting her hair flow down her arm. Margaery watches the movement, like ripples across a stream, before grinning wider._

_“Our ex is watching us.” Sansa’s eyes flicker behind Margaery’s shoulder and indeed, there is Joffrey with a group of his idiotic friends, his own gaze flickering over to them every now and then. Sansa keeps her attention fixed on Margaery. “How have you been?”_

_“Fine,” says Sansa, because that’s all she says now. Margaery’s grin is not predatory - not yet - but there is something dangerous there._

_The long dormant fire of lust and attraction builds in her chest. It’s mostly surprising, but Margaery is a tornado and Sansa lets herself get swept up in it._

_By the end of the next semester, Sansa is severely in debt - jewelry and fancy dinner dates are expensive, but at least Sansa knows how it feels to have an orgasm - and single again._

_Luckily, Sansa still has her internship with Professor Baelish._

_Luckily, he hires her for a part-time position while she finishes her degree._

_Luckily, he accepts her into his exclusive class for upperclassmen._

_Sansa has never been lucky._

_Offers to read over her papers turn into solo meetings that move later and later into the night… closed wooden doors when Sansa insists they meet in his office..._

_Baelish’s hand travels up her thigh. Her heart races faster, but it’s not with purple anticipation or red lust. It’s black._

_It’s fear._

_Luckily, the door slams open._

_This is the fifth time Sansa sees Joffrey Baratheon. His grip tightens on the brown, oak door as mirth sparkles in his eyes._

_The next day, Sansa Stark drops the class, enrolls in the bare minimum number of credits necessary to finish by the middle of her fourth year, and only drinks red wine on Fridays to exorcise the tears that still refuse to fall. She changes her number and deletes all her social media accounts, sick of seeing her name all over the university gossip twitters._

_(The last and final time she sees Joffrey is during her graduation a semester earlier than planned, which is just dinner with Robb on the outskirts of campus after passing her finals. Joffrey’s glare is still withering, but it’s a light gray and not black, and Robb holds her to his side and says he’s proud of her._

_Joffrey corners her outside the bathroom, threatens to release her only mistake to the world - a picture; her in pink lace and nothing else - and Sansa congratulates him on his engagement to Margaery Tyrell and gladly promises to leave King’s Landing and never come back._

_Sansa leaves King’s Landing in the back of Robb’s car with only one brown suitcase, her heart singing songs of freedom.)_

 

 

 

Theon calls Yara with the intention of inviting her for lunch the next day, but Yara surprises them after dinner.

The moment Yara bursts through the front door - narrowly avoiding knocking into Theon - she is a rush of thunder and storm and lighting. Heading straight for the kitchen, Yara grabs Sansa’s centerpiece - a pale yellow vase holding an arrangement of fake flowers. 

“Theon,” she says, lifting a branch of green leaves. “This is green.”

Theon blinks. “You - ”

Without looking at him, Yara continues to studying the flowers. Her fingers linger on a red petals. “Met her last night. Dany. Daenerys.” She glances over at him, but only for a moment; the colors are too fascinating. “Met her boyfriend too.”

Sinking into the chair by the kitchen table, Theon rests his head on his elbow. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” says Yara, finally returning all the flowers to where they were. The wooden chair creaks when she sits down beside him. “I can do the test.”

“No.” Theon shakes his head, firmly, because the idea sets off a clenching in his gut that feels like a pile of mud. “Sansa already agreed.”

“So?” Her voice lowers as she leans towards him. “Dany is _actually_ my soulmate. There’s no way this could - ”

“No,” he insists, hard and firm and part of Theon wonders why he’s resisting this. Him and Sansa are fake - Yara and Dany… that’s _real_.

Right?

But his mouth moves before his thoughts can catch up. “Sansa already agreed. We can do this, Yara. We can pretend to be soulmates and pass the test and get the money.” He captures both her wrists, draws her hands closer to him. “I can do this.”

There’s movement in the corner of his eye, but he keeps his focus on his sister. Yara, meanwhile, studies him with a wrinkled forehead and narrowed eyes. “I know _you_ can.” Her emphasis is not missed, especially when the figure behind her stiffens. “You trust her?”

Theon lets his gaze wander - to fall on Sansa, standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and face carefully blank. He speaks to her. “Yeah, I do.”

Yara straightens and turns to Sansa. “You agreed to this shit?” Slowly, Sansa nods. Maybe Theon is imagining the vulnerability in her posture, because Yara only pauses for a moment before standing, moving closer. Predator to her prey. “You want to pretend to be his soulmate?”

“We got this,” says Sansa, voice steadier than he expects. “Theon and I have known each other for a long time - ”

“But you don’t really _know_ him.” Yara edges closer and Sansa stands her ground. Theon’s eyes flicker between the two. “What’s in this for you? Why this?” When Sansa hesitates, her gaze sliding to his before returning, Yara straightens. “Is it for the money?” she asks, clearly suspicious.

“Yara - ” he starts, because he gets it, he really does, but this isn’t _fair_ - 

“No,” says Sansa, a hand raised in his direction. Theon, halfway to standing, sits back down. She shakes her head. “I’m not in it for the money. I’ve been used for my family’s money before,” she says, smiling bitterly. “I wouldn’t do that to Theon.”

No, Theon thinks: she’d just used him to lie to her family instead.

Yara frowns as her fingers tap against the counters. “You’re certain you’re doing this - ”

“I am,” says Theon, perhaps louder and more confidently than he really feels. “We are.” He nods to Sansa.

Still hesitating, Yara studies them both. Eventually, Yara relents with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll talk to the lawyers.” Turning to Theon, she squeezes his shoulder. “Good luck.”

Sansa stiffens but Theon ignores her. “We won’t need it.”

Yara rolls her eyes and leaves without further comment.

Theon only draws his eyes away from the door - white paint chipped revealing brown patches - when Sansa crosses in front of him to sink into the couch. Leaning against the arm rest, she leaves him plenty of space… so he joins her.

For a long while, they sit like that: facing each sitting facing each other on opposite ends, feet stretched out and barely covered by Theon’s brown blanket. When their feet touch just for a moment… it feels like a handshake, a physical acknowledgement of their agreement. 

Sansa curls into herself. “She’s right, you know.”

“About what?”

“We don’t really know each other.”

It’s not quite the truth, but it’s not a total lie either. Theon sighs. “Then we get to know each other.” He pulls the blanket so it can cover his chest. “Like now I know you’re a blanket hog.”

Sansa laughs before tossing the entire blanket over to him. When it slips off his grinning face, she stands with a yawn. “I’m off to bed.” She bites her lip when she looks at him. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, letting the blanket fall onto the couch. Her yawn is contagious. 

“Being my soulmate,” she says, half-teasing, but also half-serious, a small smile tugging on her lips. 

Her smile is contagious too. “Goodnight, Sansa.”

“‘Night.”

**Author's Note:**

> @ripsaras on twitter and @leopoldfitz on tumblr


End file.
